The Betrayer
by Shadow Wasserson
Summary: Even Airbending has a dark side.


Disclaimer[lyingAvatar belongs to me.[/lying

A/N: This was inspired by a discussion on ASN about some of the more… unethical… uses of bending. So warning for death and darkness.

The character I use here is from the Avatar trading card game, in case you were wondering.

Special thanks to Button-Monki for being my Beta!

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**The Betrayer**

The man sitting in the chair by the fireplace was neither as tall nor as imposing as the assassin expected. The top of his bare head only barely came over the high back of the chair, and the way his back slumped did not improve the overall impression of frailty. His eyes were closed, one withered hand resting on the chair's arm, the other loosely closed over his walking stick. So, he was asleep. This would be easy.

The assassin took a light step forward and brought his hands into an open palm position. For a moment, something in his chest twinged. In the dim light of the room, his target seemed even older than he actually was, and he was in fact quite ancient. The flickering light brought out the wrinkles time had wrought in his face, and was just enough to make out the faded arrow on his brow. He had been around since the beginning of the war, and had proved his mettle many times. But Fire Lord Azulon had said that he was a liability, so he had to go. The assassin took a deep breath, preparing to engulf the old man in one blow.

It might as well have been the blast of a horn. For a moment, all the assassin could see were his own flames, and then the smoke cleared to reveal the old man on his feet, staff in hand, the wisps of his air shield dissolving on the edge of vision. The assassin swung his fist for another blast, but the airbender was faster, and a quick, low blast of wind knocked him to the ground. The assassin dropped and rolled back to his feet, but he knew that he had lost the element of surprise.

"Well," said Afiko, his voice as old and tired as his face, "What is this? An attempt on my life?"

The assassin shot another blast of fire, but the old man deflected it with practiced ease.

"That was unwise. You have obviously never fought an airbender before."

The assassin kicked low, but the airbender jumped over the sheet of flame with the grace of one half his age.

"Not surprising, considering your youth…"

The assassin's heart beat loudly in his ears. This wasn't working. He had to finish this, and quickly. He breathed deeply, and ignited two fire daggers in his hands. If he couldn't throw flame at his target, perhaps engaging him in close combat would work.

"Ah, but you see, I know all about firebenders. I have lived among them. Firebending, I know, comes from the breath." Afiko's eyes suddenly grew cold, and in one graceful action he dropped his staff and began moving his hands in a strange, circular movement, as if he was reeling in an invisible rope. "And what is breath but air?"

A sharp pain shot through the assassin's chest, as if it had suddenly been caught in a steel vise, and his fires abruptly flickered out. His eyes bulged and his hands shot to his throat as it seemed to close of its own volition. He opened his mouth to reclaim his breath, but found that the air seemed to leave his mouth before he could finish inhaling.

"Now, I imagine that, if you could talk now, you would beg. But I could never stand beggars."

A terrible tightness spread through the assassin's body, and he rushed towards the old airbender. He had to stop this, stop his hands, stop him! But Afiko only moved back, seeming to float like a spirit out of the suffocating man's grasp, as if he wasn't tied to the ground at all.

"Or perhaps you would try to reason with me, say that I should keep you alive, to find out who sent you. But it matters little. I have many enemies, and it could be any of them. I should be moving on anyway."

The assassin gaped like a landed fish and clawed at his throat in a panic, trying to force it to open. What _was_ this? What kind of bender could do this to him?

Afiko continued to speak, his hands unceasingly circling, reeling in their unseen rope. "Or perhaps you would try to appeal to my better nature. I have ended the lives of so many, caused so much pain… isn't it enough?"

The assassin fell to his knees, the world spinning and blurring around him, the pain in his chest growing unbearable.

"But after so much death and evil, what difference would one spared life make? Surely, one life cannot compare to… untold _thousands_ of innocent people…"

The assassin curled up on the floor, his movements becoming weaker and weaker.

"And you can't argue that one life is priceless, for if it was, why would people's lives be assigned a value and used up, as they are in war?"

Afiko was looking up, his gaze far away from the form of the assassin at his feet, though this hands did not stop in their movement. "No, no, human life has measurable value, and one saved cannot redeem countless killed. Or perhaps…"

His attention suddenly came back to the present, and he glanced down at the fallen assassin, unbreathing, unmoving. Afiko sighed wearily, his age once again making itself felt in his bones. He was really too old to be fighting. Afiko looked at the assassin, his face full of pity. He waved his hand, and a soft breeze gently closed the assassin's eyes.

"Perhaps it is too late for me anyway."


End file.
